


Attractions and Desires

by EPS (Lillian_Shepherd)



Category: V (1983)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-29
Updated: 2011-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillian_Shepherd/pseuds/EPS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped in a downed aircraft and suffering from amnesia, Ham Tyler finds himself in a strange world where aliens have invaded.  The one thing he has to cling to is his relationship with Mike Donovan...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attractions and Desires

It was raining again, the peaks muttering to each other behind the thunderheads.

Come to California, the Sunshine State.

Even the weather had it in for her. Dear God, why couldn’t Fate pick on someone else for a change? She’d done nothing to deserve luck as awful as this...

Should never've left the plane. Might've been some food on board somewhere. Was she expected to eat worms or ants like some thrice-damned Visitor? Not that the blasted lizards bothered with those when they could get better meat.

She hadn’t thought about food, then, though. Had only thought about getting away from the awfulness... the blood… and the pilot's brains spattered on the windshield...and…

You'd think she'd seen enough death to be used to it by now. Why should she care? She'd been betrayed too often.

And now, if the reports were true, they'd taken everything

How long had she been walking? A day? Two? Difficult to tell with the sky this black all the time. Long enough to blister her feet so that every step was agony, to shred her light sandals to ticker-tape.

Why couldn't they have crashed somewhere civilized? Even a road – a track – would be something… A hope.

I'm probably walking in circles, anyway. Just one horrendous mistake after another – that's the story of my life. Maybe I should just slit my wrists.

Instead, she kept on walking.

 

No light seeped into this ill-fitting coffin to hurt his eyes, but the fucking artillery clamoured and echoed in his aching head.

Damn you mother-fuckers. Let a man sleep, will you, he thought savagely.

Only he mustn't sleep. He knew the signs too well. If he slept he wouldn't wake up again, like as not.

Fucking hell-hole. Maybe next time Washington'd pick a more civilized place to hold a war. Candidate who did would get his vote, anyway.

Damn monsoon must've started, too, judging by the rain he could hear drumming against the metal of his coffin. It was trickling down the back of his neck, too.

Or was it water? Hurt like hell back there. Hurt like hell everywhere, particularly when he moved. Couldn't move his legs, anyway. Trapped, or...?

That was one of the things he mustn't think about. If only his head didn't hurt so much, he might be able to remember more...

Chopper had crashed, he supposed. This wasn't a jeep. Hadn't seen much of it, but he was sure of that much. Lucky it hadn't blown up on impact...maybe. Where'd he been going? Saigon? Da Nang? Some other unnamed and God-forsaken hell-hole?

At least he hadn't had the kid along with him, thank God. Poked his nose into every damned rat's nest –

Not this time. From his position he could see the face of the only other body, and the kid would never've left him.

Probably started to worry by now. Come looking for me, if he can charm his way through the bullshit. Charm his way into Hades one day, that one will.

If he hasn't already.

Don't want him to see me like this, don't want him to find me, alive or dead— But, oh Christ. If the gooks find me first...

Should've known... too good to last… too much to live for...

Fuck you all! Stop that racket. You never hit anything anyway...

 

She understood now. She'd been damned as punishment for her strange original sin. This was one of the circles of hell and she was doomed to hobble through its murk, mistaking rocks for rescuers. Well, she wouldn't make that mistake again, even when the apparition took as familiar a shape as this one...

"Robin!' the apparition cried, flinging astonishingly solid arms about her."Thank God! We've been searching for hours. Mike! Over here! Where's Ham, Robin? And the plane? We've been so worried… What happened? Was it the Visitors?"

"No... We... I've... I couldn't find anyone. Oh, Julie…" Unable to explain, Robin took refuge in tears, sobbing hysterically into Julie Parrish's wet anorak.

"Steady. Steady, honey. It's alright. You're safe now..." Julie soothed, patting her head and back indiscriminately."Lordy, your poor feet. Mike!"

"My cue," said another, instantly recognisable voice, then Robin found herself swung off her feet into Donovan's strong arms. She clung to this new refuge as she was carried – cautiously – downhill.

Within seconds, to her silent astonishment, the slope levelled into road. Moments later, Donovan was lowering her onto a pile of blankets in the back of a truck, and Julie was elbowing him aside to get at her patient's feet. Unfortunately, the respite didn't last long.

"You found them?" a voice demanded from outside the truck.

"Just Robin," Donovan called back.

"Chris?" Robin felt panic rise in her throat as the big man heaved himself into the back of the truck. "But you're in Frisco!" she squeaked.

"How d'you think we came to be here, Robin?" Donovan asked gently. "We didn't even know you'd left Chicago until Chris arrived this morning, expecting to find you and Tyler already here. You shouldn't've taken the risk, Robin. You know how much Diana'd like to get—"

"I had to come. We heard ... about Elizabeth. I couldn't believe ... she's my baby, Mike"

"She's the Starchild, honey," Julie replied gently. "Something we don't understand. And our best hope."

"She's my baby—"

"Robin!" Chris shook her angrily. "We can't do anything about Elizabeth, not right now, but we have to know what happened to Ham. Your plane was seen two days ago in this area, descending rapidly. Were you shot down?"

"No...it was the storm. We were hit by lightning. The engine failed... Oh God!" She screwed her fists into her eyes, trying to stop the welling tears. "Leave me alone! Just leave me alone..."

"Let me." Julie pushed Chris aside, sliding a comforting arm about Robin's shoulders. "What happened, honey? Did the plane crash?"

A nod.

"What about Ham? And the pilot?"

"Dead – they're both dead – everyone's but me..."

Chris said, very softly, "Oh shit."

Julie was shaking her head. "I can hardly believe it."

"You're sure, Robin?" Donovan demanded. "What the hell killed him? He wasn't human enough to die like normal people."

"He ... he was crushed in the wreckage ... perhaps his neck was broken. There was blood ... I couldn't get close enough..."

"You couldn't— You mean you're not certain he's dead? You left him there without—" Chris shouted, huge fists clenching.

"Steady." Donovan caught his wrist, holding it still by brute force. "Tyler would have been the first to say that self preservation takes priority. Where's the plane, Robin?"

"He was dead, I tell you. He was so still ... and there was so much blood..." Robin could hear the bluster in her own voice, inadequate cover for her uncertainty. "Leave me alone!"

"Damn you, Robin! Where's the plane?" Chris roared.

"I don't know. Up ... up in the mountains someplace."

"Jesus fucking Christ..."

"She'll find it again," Julie interrupted, her voice firm with command. "Won't you, Robin? Where d'you think you're going, Mike?"

"Even a tank couldn't make it up there in weather like this, and Robin can hardly walk. I'm going to see if I can hire, buy, borrow or, if necessary, steal some more appropriate transport.'

"Mules," said Chris.

"What I had in mind."

"Good enough. I'll contact the others, if the radios'll work in this Godforsaken weather."

Left alone with Julie, Robin looked pleadingly at the resistance leader. "I don't really have to go up there again, do I?"

"If Ham's still alive we've got to find him. Robin. With your help, there's a chance we may be in time. You owe him that."

Much as she wanted to do so, Robin knew better than to argue when Julie took that tone, but she knew she'd never find that plane again, and, even if she did, Tyler was dead.

It was such a waste of time.

 

It was all a question of time now. He was going to die. All that remained to be decided was whether the Cong or thirst would get him first. By dint of twisting his head to an almost impossible angle, he had managed to catch some of the rainwater in his mouth as it trickled down between the twisted struts of metal.

Putting off the inevitable.

But I don't want to die. I have too much to live for.

Which is probably why it happened. Too good to last.

So long, kid.

Not that you could hear me. How did that fuckin' Limey poet describe it?

 _Huge imprecations like a blasting charm._

What I need is a blasted charm to keep the things quiet. Then I can die in peace.

 

The mule lurched and Robin clutched at the stubbled mane, lacerating her palms in the process.

Donovan's face turned towards her, pale in the lightning, mouthing the words: "Which way now?"

Which way now? As if she knew! All the damned rocks looked alike.

"I... I'm not sure, Mike. Maybe..." It was then she noticed his puzzled expression and realised that he could not hear her. At random, she pointed left, then regretted it as she realised that Mike was trying the lead the mule up what seemed like a sheer cliff.

Too late now.

Amid the thunder and the deluge, Robin hung on and prayed.

 

The shouting woke him.

Human voices! No words over the crash of the artillery and the howl of the wind, but there was no mistaking the intelligence of the new noise. He had been found.

But by whom?

If the men out there were friends... Hope surged through him. Perhaps it wasn't all lost after all. And he wanted to live. How he wanted to live.

But if they were the enemy...

Not for the first time, he wished for the gun he hadn't got.

Sounded as if there was some sort of argument goin' on out there. After a while, it stopped. It was a few moments later that he realised that someone was easing themselves through the twisted metal towards him.

He waited.

The intruder didn't speak, didn't identify himself.

Danger.

A flashlight beam flicked over his body. Hurriedly, he closed his eyes. Let them think he was helpless.

The slight rustle of movement was now accompanied by panting. The intruder was finding it hard going.

Fingers touched the side of his neck. As they withdrew, he opened his eyes a slit.

A woman!

A white woman, fair haired, pretty in an obvious way, serious-faced, dressed in a denim worksuit, she was lit by a flashlight wedged somewhere behind her. That light glinted on the object she held in her hands.

Hypo.

No!

As she twisted his free arm to expose the vein, he jerked free and struck upwards, fingers closing on her throat.

He was far weaker than he had dreamed, for the woman broke free with ease, rolling away into the hole through which she'd come. She swore – in English – as her elbow connected with metal. "Blast you, Tyler! I'm trying to—" She broke off, her eyes looking directly into his. For a moment, she was silent. Then she reached sideways for her flashlight, and backed out.

"He's alive alright," Julie gasped, rubbing her throat. "Bastard tried to kill me."

"He what? Why don't we just-?"

"Cool down, Mike. I don't think he knew who I was. Probably didn't know who he was, come to that. I managed to get a quick look at him before he went for me. He's running a high fever."

"Well, what now?"

"We've got to pump some antibiotics into him, and quickly. The problem is that I'm not strong enough to hold him down and—"

"Say no more." Chris reached for the hypo, but Donovan forestalled him.

"Uhuh. My job, I think. It's going to be a tight fit for me, let alone you. Besides, you'd be too gentle with the bastard. This time, he won't have a chance to get lucky."

 

"We're no use here," Robin grumbled to Willie, who was attempting to hold onto the head of her mule. The animal didn't like lightning and liked the smell of Visitor even less. "I think we should go back to the truck."

"Julie asked us to come with her." Willie was thinking about it. "They may need our help here."

"Why should you care? Tyler hates Visitors."

"Does that mean all Visitors should hate him?" Willie was obviously puzzled. "Father Andrew said—"

"And look what happened to him."

"That is irritable."

"What? Oh, you probably mean irrelevant. But-"

"Robin, Willie, get back to the truck. We need metal cutters and a winch up here. Try the ranch on the north fork. They were the ones who saw the plane come down. Oh, and Robin, get some sleep."

"Sleep!" Robin snorted, as Willie hauled the mule about on its rear end. "What's that?" Being a Visitor wise in the strange ways of humans, Willie made no attempt to answer.

 

He could hear it again, the sound of movement, just occasionally audible between detonations.

The woman returning?

Who the devil was she, anyway? She'd spoken English in a moment of stress, with what sounded like a West Coast American accent.

But no American woman would be allowed into a combat zone.

She'd known him, too. Well, known his name, at least. So why hadn't she identified herself? She wasn't a gook. Hair colour could be changed, but not the shape of features, eyes, body... Russian? There were 'advisors' in the North, and maybe KGB agents in the South...

KGB?

That made no sense at all. He must be beginning to fantasize.

Without warning, a bright light flashed directly into his eyes, blinding him. An instant later he was pinioned by an arm that was definitely not female, held down by strength impervious to his struggles.

"Damn you, lie still. I'm only trying to save your fucking life—" a male voice snapped. Blessedly familiar voice.

He stopped struggling. "Mike?" he croaked, horrified by the weakness of his own voice.

"Yeah. You recognise me then?"

"'Course I do."

"Thought you were delirious." All the same, Donovan released him. "Ham, listen. I'm going to give you an injection. It's just an antibiotic. Relax now." Tyler felt the needle slide into his arm, a minor irritation compared with his other pains. "That's it. I'm going to strap a pressure pad over that wound in your back – sorry," he added, as the patient drew a sharp breath. "We're going to get you out of here, but it may take a little time. Just lie still – damn fool – fighting like that started it bleeding again."

"Thought ... Reds had got me."

"Reds?" Mike sounded puzzled, but he was offering him water now, one hand supporting his head while he drank.

"Told you before ... gotta watch your back, kid. Y'shouldn't ... be here. Cong ... gotta be close ... with that artillery ... barrage ..."

There was a long pause.

He wished desperately he could see Mike's face, but the other man was behind the light. Carefully he moved his hand towards where he judged Donovan might be, found an arm and grasped it tightly. "Get out of here, kid – while you've got a chance."

"Ham." There was an odd note in Mike's voice which Tyler supposed to be suppressed emotion. "There's no artillery out there. It's just th—"

"Deaf as well as brainless." Tyler couldn't resist the jibe, but his voice was rough with affection. "Get going, hear?"

Donovan made no move. "I'm not going anywhere," he snapped. "What's more, I'm not the one here with a screw loose."

We're going to fight, Tyler thought with dismay. Don't want that. Not if this is the last time we— Guess it's truth time. Difficult, but...

He drew a breath. "Sorry, kid. Didn't ... mean it. You're ... best thing ... that's happened ... to me. Love you."

There. It was finally said.

 

Michael Donovan lay still, listening to the mental echoes of the velvet voice that had never changed, even when so much else had, and hated Ham Tyler with a desperate ferocity he had believed no longer necessary.

No, he thought, oddly calm, though his heart was pounding treacherously. This can't be happening. Not after sixteen years. He can't do this to me.

"Mike...?"

Donovan grasped the fingers touching his cheek and held them fiercely. "I'm still here."

"Know that. Just ... don't let ... Cong ... get you, kid."

"Ham, for the last time, that's thunder out there, not artillery, and the Cong aren't here."

"Yeah." Only Tyler could put that much sarcasm into a single affirmative.

"Yeah. Now shut up and leave everything to me."

"Suicide..." Tyler muttered, but it was under his breath and, when Donovan chose to ignore it, he said nothing more. It was far too much effort, anyway.

 

It was the longest night of Mike Donovan's life. The rain continued unceasingly, turning the hillside to a glue that threatened to sweep them all away in a giant mudslide. For far too long after he had first tended Tyler's injuries, he could do no more to help him, other than keep him quiet and warm. Donovan lay beside him for hours, feeding him water and drugs, holding him still when the fever shook him and talking himself hoarse with soothing, lying nonsense that recalled too many memories he had forced himself to forget.

Then reinforcements arrived, bringing a new and more acute danger in the form of acetylene torches. These might be the only equipment locally available that could cut Tyler free, but there was too much aviation fuel in the air and mud for them to be used safely. Where they could, the rescuers preferred to use saws and crowbars, but at times they had no choice.

In Donovan's confused and fatigued mind, the hours before dawn assumed all the features of a terrible nightmare; the stink of blood and urine and death, of aviation fuel, hot metal and ozone, the claustrophobic darkness, the cramping of his muscles and, above all, Tyler's unflappable, immovable, insufferable courage.

Almost, Donovan succumbed to the injured man's delusion that the Vietnam War was being waged about them. By the time they had enough space to lift Tyler from the wreckage, he came close to wishing it was.

 

Leaning his arms on the top rail of the verandah, Donovan felt a strong sense of unreality as he looked down the lush, sunlit valley. From here, it was impossible to see that the citrus groves were burgeoning unpruned and unharvested.

It all looked so peaceful now the storms had passed.

Yet this hotel, once a luxury retreat beyond Donovan's means, was empty because the invading Visitors had rounded up the owners, staff and then-resident guests in one of their sweeps. While it was unlikely that they would harvest this area again, most people had an almost-superstitious revulsion against occupying the property their victims had left behind. He was only here himself because the core of the L.A. Resistance needed an obscure and easily defensible retreat during this strange time of half-truce.  
For the present, the ceasefire appeared to be holding, but no word had come from Elizabeth or Phillip, and all their hope lay with the half-human, half-Visitor mutant and the Visitor Inspector General who was so like his murdered brother...

I wish you were still here, Martin. I need someone sensible to talk to, someone uninvolved...

He had no very clear memory of yesterday's journey down the side of the mountain and back here to the hotel, but he did remember Julie shooing him to bed. As he recalled, she'd also said Tyler was no longer in danger.

Tyler.

His guts wrenched at the thought of the other man, at what had been said halfway up a mountain less than twenty-four hours before. That, of course, was why he had been standing here, admiring the view, postponing their inevitable meeting in the clear light of day.  
I must have been mad.

Still, Tyler would be over his delirium by now. Probably wouldn't remember a thing.

And what excuse did you have, Michael Donovan? That he needed you? That you wanted him to need you?

Donovan dismissed that thought with a vigorous shake of his head.

Makes no difference. Even if he does remember, he'll never admit it. It'd give me an advantage and he'd never allow that.

Oh Ham, what happened to you? To us?

Furious with himself for allowing it to matter, Donovan shoved himself away from the rail and stamped off in the direction of the suite Julie was using as a surgery.

He had to destroy this now, before it got too great a hold on him. Half a minute with Tyler ought to do it nicely.

 

"He woke up about an hour ago. Fever's gone, no sign of infection, and he was so thoroughly obnoxious when I ordered him to stay in bed that I knew he was feeling better. He must be very sore and he'd undoubtedly fall down if he did try to get up, but he's going to be fine, Mike."

"Devil looking after his own," Donovan concluded. You're putting it off, he chided himself. Get it over with, damn you. "Can I see him?"

"He's been asking for you." Julie hesitated. "Mike ... one thing ... he still doesn't recognise me. It seems he may have lost quite a large chunk of memory."

It was the one possibility that Donovan had refused the let himself consider. "Permanently?"

"I don't know. We still know very little about the mechanism of amnesia. This could have been caused by a physical injury or by stress – and he's still very weak, so I daren't push him. You might remember that when you speak to him, Mike. None of your usual yelling matches. Damn it. I don't even know how much memory he's lost."

"Judging by last night, sixteen, maybe seventeen years."

It was Julie's turn to be surprised. "You've known him that long?"

"Honey, I'm not sure I've ever known him at all."

 

Tyler was lying propped up against the pillows. He looked pale, uncertain and almost ... vulnerable. Ridiculous idea.

"Hi there," Donovan said brightly, knowing he sounded nervous.

The dark eyes flicked to his face, widening momentarily. "This isn't Nam," Tyler stated.

"No. It's California."

"You tried to tell me that last night—"

"Night before last."

Tyler waved that away as irrelevant. "Whatever. It's a lot longer than that since Nam, isn't it, Mike? What – ten years?"

Donovan sat down hurriedly on the nearest piece of furniture, which happened to be the bed. "More than fifteen ... but how did you know?"

"Your lady doctor knew me too well for a stranger. Besides, she was wearing one of these when she took my pulse." He tapped the LCD watch on Donovan's left wrist. "You confirmed it. Those lines on your face didn't grow there overnight."

Donovan forced a smile. "You've a few of your own."

"Suspected that when the lady doctor wouldn't give me a mirror."

"Her name's Julie – and I don't blame her. You're no oil painting at the moment."

"Never was." Tyler smiled suddenly, dazzling Donovan, who hadn't been prepared for it. "You never used to complain."

"Who says I'm complaining now?" The words were out before he realised what he was saying. To his horror, he found he was starting to blush.

He hadn't blushed in years.

"Just checking. Fifteen years is a long time." Tyler looked into Donovan's eyes with heart-spearing directness. "I never gave us much of a chance of making it work. It's nice to be proved wrong."

Donovan wasn't hearing the words. His world was filled by direct dark brown eyes, a hypnotic dark brown voice, and the urgent pressure in his groin. And he couldn't hide the intensity of his response, for Tyler's hand had somehow dropped into his lap. He shuddered as a thumb caressed captive hardness. It was what he had feared all along, this raising of an inferno from supposedly dead ashes.

"Just so there's no mistake ... I want you too, Mike." Tyler's free hand laced in his hair, pulling him down, and he no longer wanted to resist. The warm mouth took his, open, tempting him to take possession, with a taste that spun him dizzyingly into the past, into that sunfire of passion that no-one else had ever given him, no matter how he sought for it. Now he demanded it, instinctively, hungrily, as if sixteen years of hate had been amputated from his emotions as they had been from Tyler's memory.

The kiss seemed to last forever.

When, finally, he broke it and drew back a little to catch his breath, he found reassurance in familiar dark eyes.

"Satisfied?" Tyler's breath was warm on Donovan's lips. Any closer, and his own would have brushed them as they moved.

"No, but we'll both have to wait for that. You're on sick call, remember?"

"Oh yeah?" Tyler's mouth took his again, now with all the ferocity of passion Donovan remembered so vividly. He yielded gladly, losing everything, even his identity, in wild, mutual need.

Abruptly, Tyler released him, falling back against the pillows, eyes closed.

For a moment, Donovan panicked. "Ham! Oh no ... please."

"Sorry," Tyler gasped, still not opening his eyes. "Guess...you were right after all." He lifted one eyelid a slit. "Raincheck?"

"Definitely." Donovan kissed his forehead, then both eyelids, then his mouth. By the time he'd completed this operation, Tyler was asleep.

Still lost in a haze of tenderness, he straightened the coverlet and rose to his feet.

His heart stopped.

Julie and Chris stood side by side in the doorway, wearing almost identical expressions of stunned betrayal.

For the second time that morning, Donovan found himself going bright red.

Shit! That was all he needed. How much had they seen?

Too much, undoubtedly.

Ham mustn't hear any of this!

That thought galvanised Donovan into action. He glanced significantly towards Tyler and shook his head at the intruders before marching between the pair of them and out of the room.

He didn't stop until he was two rooms away, where he turned to find, without surprise, that Julie and Chris had followed him. Donovan looked at them helplessly. He'd never seen either of them look so bewildered ... and hurt. And they had rights. Julie had been his lover for more time than he and Ham had ever spent together and Chris ... Chris Faber knew Ham Tyler better than he himself ever had. Had a right to consider himself his closest friend.

How could he explain what he didn't understand himself?

All the same, he had to try. They had those rights.

"This ... isn't easy for me, either," he began haltingly.

"It's none of my business, anyway," Chris said, edging towards the door.

Donovan nearly panicked again at the thought of being left alone with Julie. "No, Chris. I owe you both an explanation."

"I think so too." Julie spoke for the first time, her voice artificially calm and level. "Stay, please, Chris."

Chris said, "Go ahead," in a non-committal tone.

"It started back in Nam, oh, seventeen years ago. I was just a kid then, with a dream of being a big-shot cameraman. And Nam was where the action was. I couldn't wait to see if I was going to be drafted. No, I had to con my way to Saigon, then the front line.

"I'd've been dead within a week if it hadn't been for Ham Tyler. Not that the fact he'd saved my neck stopped me from risking it again, first chance I got, mainly following him. I kidded myself I was tagging along – and certainly not with his permission – because he was bound to be in the middle of the action. Actually, I was plain fascinated. He was different in those days. Oh, he was as tough as ten-inch armour and a born cynic, but he could be kind, compassionate, even tender.

"And I fell in love with him." Donovan's look challenged his listeners to disbelieve him. "I'm not ashamed of that. It was the only real thing about Nam, our love, and we were happy. Well, I was, and I thought Ham was too, but suddenly, after about a year ... well, I suppose he fell out of love with me. He wasn't gentle about letting me know it, either.

"Well, no-one ever died of a broken heart, but for a time I— Anyway, I was suddenly offered the chance of the kind of job I'd always prayed for. It was an escape route and I ran down it. Was only later that I realised it wasn't co-incidence. They don't call Ham 'The Fixer' for nothing."

Donovan was silent for a time, but the other two didn't try to question him, didn't even move. Finally, he shook himself and continued. "I didn't see him for ten months, and when I did it was as if I'd never known him. He wouldn't let me in, even as a friend ... and the things he was doing...

"Every time I saw him after that he'd gotten harder, more brutal. He came to embody everything I loathed and I hated him for it. Perhaps I had to.

"Now, suddenly, he doesn't remember any of it, any of the killing, any of the hate. The man I used to love has been given back to me, believing ... believing we've been together for seventeen years. He needs me. I can't let him down and I want you to promise you won't disillusion him."

"All this time," Chris whispered. "Thirteen, fourteen years I've known him, and he never mentioned you except as a marginal nuisance, never hinted..."

"Why should he? It was dead long before you knew either of us."

"Was it?" There was a new bitterness in Julie's voice. "Was it ever dead? I know you, Mike Donovan. You were using me, weren't you – the way I suspect you used your wife – both to protect yourself and to hurt him?"

"No, Julie. No! I—"

"Oh, I don't suppose you did it deliberately. Perhaps you even cared for me a little – I believed you did, anyway – but I've seen your real love. It's total, obsessive. Like with Sean. You made it very clear to me that in a choice between me and Sean I didn't stand a chance. But if that choice was between Ham and Sean – right now, Mike – how would you choose?"

Donovan hung his head, knowing he had no answer.

"Ham too. Back at the beginning of all this, Chris, whose suggestion was it that you and Ham come here to help us?"

Chris was nodding. "Ham didn't actually suggest it, Julie, but, looking back, I'll swear he manoeuvred it."

"Because he knew Mike was here. Mike Donovan, risking his fool neck in a cause, needing Ham's protection. And he only left us after the Visitors' conversion made him suddenly dangerous to Mike. Oh, it's so obvious now. And he probably didn't even realise he was doing it, any more than Mike did."

"You're wrong," Donovan stated flatly, ruthlessly crushing a little shiver of joy at the possibility. "He hated me, despised what I was and what I stood for, just as I hated and despised him. Which is why— Are you going to tell him?"

Chris shrugged. "Would he believe us? I know Ham Tyler too well to— Well, I know enough to keep out of his personal life. What you tell him is your affair, Donovan."

"Julie?" Donovan prompted, hating himself.

"Tyler already has enough to cope with and it's not his fault."

"Yes, I know, it's mine. I'm sorry, Julie."

"For pity's sake don't apologise. After all, we've been growing apart for a long time now. I just didn't imagine it ending like this."

"Julie..." Donovan stretched out a hand towards her, and then withdrew it. "I didn't mean— I'm sorry."

"Don't lie to me!" Julie flared. "You're not sorry this has happened – you're glad. You're trying to hide it, but any fool can see you're glowing with joy. Well, grab your happiness while you can, Mike. It may not last very long."

"I am sorry I hurt you. And if you can't see that, I'm sorry for that, too." Donovan turned on his heel and strode quickly for the door.

"Donovan." Chris' voice. "Please, whatever you do, try not to hurt him too much.'

And Julie's: "Don't you understand yet. Chris. He'd sooner slit his own throat – or ours."

Donovan slammed the door behind him.

 

Tyler shifted his position unobtrusively, trying to ease the pain in his back without alerting Donovan. The other man had shown a distressing tendency to fuss.

One more change – the kid used to think he was invulnerable.

He hadn't changed that much himself, naturally. When they'd finally given him a mirror to shave, he'd recognised himself quite easily; a bit less hair, a few more lines but he'd never been handsome. Some people had found him attractive, though.

He glanced with well-concealed affection at his lover. He was beginning to get used to the changes in Mike's appearance now; the extra muscle on what had been a too thin frame, the new hairstyle that gave him the faint air of a nineteenth century poet, the lines about his eyes and across his forehead, as if he'd stared into too many sunsets. He wasn't sure he liked all of it, even the new maturity in those odd eyes that changed shade and colour with the light. Not that there was a deal of maturity about the way Mike was behaving at the moment.

As time went on, he was finding it more and more difficult to keep his own face straight – his original attentive expression had become impossible fairly early in the proceedings. He supposed it was partly his own fault, making that crack about how they must be on the run, since he hadn't been taken to hospital. That wasn't half as good a joke as this story of Mike's, though. Still, the kid – must stop calling him that –had always been inventive. Mind you, he'd gone right over the top this time.

A World War or a Communist coup he might have swallowed – even a less fanciful alien invasion, if he'd been feeling particularly gullible – but not human-eating lizards disguised as humans arriving in giant flying saucers. He might have lost his memory, but his reason was undamaged. And he wasn't so besotted with Mike that he'd believe everything he said in that so-earnest tone. He'd learned about Mike Donovan's sense of humour the hard way.

The only reason he'd kept his mouth shut this long was curiosity as to what he'd come up with next. He hadn't been disappointed: a secret resistance movement, fifth columnists in the enemy ranks, a half human-half alien child with magic powers, who appeared to grow like Topsy, a bacteria distilled in secret labs that killed aliens and not humans (Swiped that from H.G. Wells, didn't you, Mike?) delivered by balloon (love it!), the last moment defusing of a Doomsday bomb, final victory.

"And we were right in the middle of this, Mike?"

"Yeah, with the L.A. Resistance."

"So ... er ... if we won, how come we're still in trouble with these...Visitors?" Tyler considered trying to look innocent, but that had generally alerted Mike to deception in the past, and the other man had had sixteen more years to gain experience in identifying a counter send-up.

"Yeah, well, we had a year of peace. Then Diana escaped on the way to trial. It turns out the Red Dust only survives in colder climates – I'll have Julie explain it to you. The L.A. group – along with the others – re-formed to fight a second invasion."

"So these are battlefield conditions?" Had he managed to keep the scepticism out of his voice?

"Er ... no. Not exactly. There's a ceasefire, of a sort."

Tyler, not trusting himself to speak, raised an eyebrow instead.

"Elizabeth – I told you about her – has gone with the Visitors' Leader and their Inspector General. Phillip. There's good chance she can persuade them to make peace..." Donovan faded out, looking at Tyler with an expression of offended surprise.

It was that that finally broke what little remained of Tyler's control. The stifled giggles that had brought Donovan's monologue to a premature close became a full-blooded roar of laughter.

"What's so damned funny?" Donovan demanded.

"Oh... My God, kid, you should've been writing _Lost in Space_ ," Tyler hiccupped. "I never heard such a story. Christ, Mike. ."

"You don't believe me?" Donovan's back was stiff.

"How ... how could I doubt you? Lizards, indeed! Little green lizards? Or were they pink? Oh Christ..." Tyler doubled up again in paroxysms of laughter, clutching his side where his stitches were pulling.

"You mean—? Listen, you fool, this is serious! If Elizabeth doesn't succeed, you'll be one of the Visitors' first targets."

Tyler thrust a leg out from under the sheets and waggled it. "You want to pull this one this time, Mike?"

Donovan bristled like some long-legged, slightly shaggy dog. "Listen, you little— All right! All right, I'll prove it to you." He stalked out, stiff-legged.

Tyler grinned.

 

Donovan returned less than half an hour later, hauling a reluctant-looking man along with him by the wrist.

"This is Willie," he announced, depositing him facing Tyler at the end of the bed. "He's a friendly-type Visitor."

Tyler examined the putative alien-lizard with mocking eyes. In his personal opinion, Mike might have made a somewhat more convincing selection. This nervous-seeming, fair haired, innocuous little man didn't look in the least reptilian. More like a sheep, and it was a sheep's eyes he turned on Mike now.

"Do I have to? You know I find it embracing—"

"Embarrassing."

"Embarrassing," Willie repeated dutifully. "Your people find mine repulsive – and after what we have done I find I agree—"

"Some of my best friends were Visitors, Willie," Donovan pointed out very seriously. "Martin died in my arms. I'm not repulsed by you. And there's no need to be frightened of Ham—"

"I'm not frightened of Mr Ham. He helped me after Elias died."

Tyler noted Donovan's surprise with amusement. It appeared Willie was departing from his script. Recovering his aplomb, Mike spoke with an air of implacability. "Then what're you waiting for?"

Tyler smiled nastily. "Go on, 'Willie'. Do your worst."

Willie gave Mike another sideways look. "Please, do not be alarmed," he told Tyler.

"Son, the last time I was alarmed was when the brakes failed on my baby-buggy."

"Don't ask," Donovan said quickly. "Just demonstrate."

"Very well." Willie sounded resigned. Then he opened his mouth wider, and a long forked tongue flickered out from between his lips.

Braced for something of the sort, Tyler's only reaction was a lifted eyebrow. "Nice trick." he commented. "How does it work? Does he blow it up? There's obviously been some improvement in the practical joke market over the past seventeen years."

"Actually, no. Show him your eyes. Willie."

"Wasn't that enough?"

"Apparently not. Look, Willie, you've got to stop being ashamed of what you are, and now is as good a time as any to start. You said you would."

"To help you and Mr Ham, yes." Willie suddenly bent his head, cupping his palms over his eyes. When he raised his face again, the pale eyes had been replaced by living fire opals.

For a moment, Tyler was taken aback, then with a "May I see those?" he was moving forward across the bed to grasp Willie's hands. In that moment, he came close to dropping them again. Touching Willie was like putting your hand into an ice-box.

He's not really that cold, Tyler told himself. It's just the contrast but ... oh, Jesus fucking Christ! He looked up from the plastic shells cupped in those cold hands into the great, expressionless, red and gold eyes in the worried human face.

"Thank you, Willie," he said quietly. "That's very convincing."

"Then this has been worthwhile. Now, may I go? This light is hurting my eyes."

"Yes, of course." Tyler released his hands and rearranged his sheets and pillows. He said nothing further until Willie had gone from the room. To his relief, neither did Donovan.

When they were alone again, Mike came to sit at the end of Tyler's bed, waiting patiently for him to speak. When he did, it was with the unexpected question: "Who was Martin?"

"Visitor officer, fifth columnist and, for a year, my soundman. A good man and a good friend. Diana killed him."

"Friend of mine, too?"

"You? You're the man who thinks the only good lizard is a dead lizard."

Tyler grinned. "Glad you said that. If you hadn't, I wouldn't have believed you." He was beginning to recover his poise.

"Bastard."

"You'll have to ask my mother..." All laughter fled Tyler's face. "Mike, come to bed."

"Ham, there's no need to be jealous. He had green skin and cold blood and—"

"I'm not jealous," Tyler protested unconvincingly. "I just want you."

"Later. When you're a bit stronger." Despite the words, there was irresolution on Donovan's face.

Tyler pressed hi advantage. "Mike, I need you. Please."

It worked, as Tyler had known it would. Donovan got up, locked the door, and then began to undress. Tyler watched him avidly, noting new scars, the ripple of muscle that was heavier than the picture in his memory. It started heat coiling through groin and stomach.

He shifted across the bed, threw back the covers and held out his hand. "Come to bed, Mike," he repeated.

Then Donovan was there beside him, kissing him with a hunger that dispelled any doubts, hands sweeping over his body as if desperate to touch every inch of skin.

"Oh God, Ham," he whispered, in punctuation of the line of kisses he was laying up Tyler's neck. "God.but I've missed you."

Tyler caught a handful of hair and pulled his head up so that he could see his face. It was flushed and bright-eyed, smiling down at him with lust-doped mistiness. "Missed me?" he demanded of it.

"Yeah." Donovan propped himself more comfortably on his elbows. "You've been away. Chicago. What did you think you were doing on that plane – crop-spraying?"

Maybe it wasn't Donovan who was lust-doped. Tyler hadn't even thought about what he'd been doing on the plane. He said so.

"You were coming home," Donovan told him.

"And now I'm here."

Donovan sighed, still staring at him with a fatuous expression.

Taking the opportunity while it was offered, Tyler let go of Donovan's hair and ran his hands down the curve of spine to the tighter curves below it. "Got a lovely ass," he muttered huskily, giving it a gentle squeeze with both hands, feeling the shiver of response with satisfaction. "Driving me nuts all day. How the hell d'you sit down in those jeans?" he added, diverted.

"With difficulty, with you staring at 'em. You want to try living with a permanent hard-on.

"Do that to you, do I?"

"You know it." Donovan lowered his head again to run his tongue along Tyler's collarbone. Fire ran with it. Throwing back his head, Tyler thrust his groin forward to grind against Donovan's, kneading his fingers against the trembling buttocks. Donovan's hands were roaming again, one caressing his thigh, one hooking about his shoulders to pull him close, closer, skin sliding against skin, mouth against mouth, feeding, nursing...

Then Tyler grunted in pain as a hand brushed against the dressing taped to his back.

Donovan froze. "Ham?"

The horror in his voice gave Tyler the strength to ignore the pain. He moved one hand to Donovan's shoulder. "Shhh. S'okay, baby. Know you're not into sadism."

"I don't think we should go on, Ham. I'll only hurt you again.

Tyler shook the shoulder. "Mike, will you quit fuckin' around and start fuckin' properly."

As he'd expected, this convulsed Donovan. It also drove all the tension out of him. When he resumed love-making, it was with no less urgency but far more tenderness.

Tyler, far weaker than he would ever have admitted, was content to let him set the pace for both of them. It was suddenly very simple; the touch of cool fingers, warm lips, hot hardness in a prickle of body hair, his own heated sex held between powerful thighs, all his weight supported by Mike's strength as he thrust and shuddered, finally came – and was whole.

Donovan stared upwards at the bars of light and shade moving slowly across the ceiling, absently stroking the back of Tyler's neck with his thumb. The other man had fallen asleep suddenly, still wrapped so tightly around Donovan that he doubted he could move without waking him.

Insecurity was not a word he would ever have associated with Tyler, but he was sure that was what had been behind all this sexual ... desperation. Julie had been worried over the ease with which Tyler had appeared to accept his amnesia, and she had been right. Because he hadn't, not really. He'd accepted a familiar situation, one which sixteen supposed years didn't appear to have changed. It was almost as if the gap hadn't existed at all.

My fault.

Forcing him to accept Willie for what he was had shattered that illusion, leaving him adrift, anchorless.

Except for me.

Donovan hated himself for the satisfaction that gave him, just as he hated himself for the pain he had caused Julie and Chris, the humiliation he had forced on Willie...

Ham needs me.

It wasn't much of an excuse, Donovan knew. Once convinced of the reality of the gap in his memory, Tyler would have accepted that their relationship had ended long ago.

Only I couldn't accept that, could I? I had a chance to get him back into my bed and I grabbed it, never mind what was best for him.

He had trapped them both in a web of deceit and, even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't cut them free without grave hurt to them both. So he'd go on lying, go on trampling over everyone else's feelings until... .until what? Until Tyler regained his memory? Until he stumbled over the truth? Until the Visitors killed one or both of them? Until they tore each other apart as they had back in Nam? Every possibility was fraught with disaster.

"Grab your happiness while you can, Mike," Julie had said.

Well, he had and he'd face the consequences, he thought, hugging Tyler even closer. It was worth it.

 

Tyler leaned casually against what remained of the cocktail bar, trying to look as if he didn't need its support. Through the open window-wall, the light off the surface of the weed-encrusted swimming pool was blinding. Nor did it help relieve his headache.

Maybe the doctor had been right after all.

No, dammit, he was on his feet and rational. It was lucky that Willie seemed more scared of his wrath than of hers. The clothes he'd managed to scare up weren't a perfect fit, but they were better than walking about stark naked.

Besides, he hadn't seen Mike all day. Confounded kid was probably off somewhere risking his damnfool neck.

He's a grown man, Tyler reminded himself. He's a good deal older than my mind still thinks I am. And he hasn't changed one damn bit.

It had been surprisingly easy to rediscover the rash, idealistic boy he had loved in the stranger who had given himself so confidently into his hands. Perhaps it was a sign that his lost memories were not that far from the surface. Whatever the terrors that lay hidden there, he wanted them back, those lost years with Mike...

He jerked round swiftly at the unfamiliar footsteps, hoping for Willie or Julie, but the newcomer was a complete stranger: a sulky-looking, dark-haired girl.

"Hello, Ham," she greeted. "I didn't expect to see you out of bed so soon."

Tyler ignored that. "I'm looking for Mike Donovan. Have you seen him?"

"Not this morning."

"Well, which room is he using?"

"I've no idea. I presume he's shacked up with Julie, if that helps."

Tyler's stillness was that of a man hit by a deadly blow. "Julie?" he repeated blankly.

"Julie Parrish." The girl laughed lightly. "Of course, you don't remember, do you, but they're something of a fixture, an almost-married couple, you could say. What's wrong? You haven't decided to fall for the beautiful blonde doctor as well, have you?"

"Would it be your business if I had?" he retorted, and she recoiled from the cold fury in his eyes

"I knew it was a mistake to go back for you!" she flared.

"And you're obviously an expert at mistakes."

"Donovan's right about you. You ought to've been drowned at birth."

"If you'd been my mother I'd've drowned myself."

The woman gasped, then lashed out, open palmed. Tyler caught her wrist in mid-air, holding it immobile.

"Don't," he advised.

She pulled back viciously and he let her go, watching her with unblinking hostility as she attempted a dignified exit. Maybe it wasn't her fault but, after what she'd said, she was lucks he was allowing her to leave intact.

"I see you're back on form," another voice said from behind him. "Scaring the life out of the help as usual."

Tyler spun to face the possible threat, hut when he stopped the room kept on moving. A hand steadied him. He jerked free and glared at its owner, a big, bearded man, heavy with muscle running to fat.

"Who the hell are you?"

The big man grinned. "Yeah, you're back to normal. I'm Chris Faber. We—"

"Where's Donovan?"

"He and Julie drove off together this morning. I'm not sure where they went. Look, it's not going to do our image any good if you keel over in the bar. Why don't you go back to bed? When Mike gets back I'll tell him you want to see him. Okay?"

"No. I'll wait for him in his quarters – if you'll show me where they are."

Faber shrugged. "Fine, so long as you explain to Julie why you're AWOL. Com'on – an' try to look as if you're going to stay upright, even if you can't."

 

Despite his air of indifference, Faber stayed close, offering unobtrusive support when even Tyler thought he was going to faint. It seemed a very long way to Donovan's room, but they reached it at last, the door opening at Faber's push.

Tyler made straight for the nearest chair and collapsed into it, with a gruff mutter of thanks to Faber. The big man, however, did not leave. Instead, he bent over him, peering worriedly into his face. "You look terrible, Boss. Should you be up?"

He received Tyler's stoniest stare in return.

"Well, if you do need any help, I'll be just across the hallway. And Julie's room's right next door—"

"Will you fuckin'-well leave me alone!" Tyler spat.

"Okay. You're the boss."

Once Faber had gone, Tyler leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, gathering strength. You're going to pay for this, Michael Donovan. When I've finished with you no-one, not even your beautiful Dr Parrish, will want what's left...

 

Donovan shouldered open the door, dumped his burdens on the dressing table, and then dived into the bathroom for a much needed glass of water. It was only when he returned to close the outer door that he noticed the figure curled up in the armchair, fast asleep.

What the hell was he doing here? And why did the bastard have to look so goddam vulnerable?" His guts melting, Donovan knelt beside the chair. Taking great care not to wake him, he eased off Tyler's shoes and socks, and was just shifting him carefully prior to lifting him when the dark eyes snapped open. Donovan kissed him between them.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"Is that all?"

It took Donovan a moment to work it out. "All I can think of at present," he replied with a smile.

"Where's Dr Parrish?"

"Julie? I don't know— Ham, are you feeling all right? D'you want me to—?"

"Balls!" Tyler uncoiled like a cobra, sweeping Donovan's hands aside as he leaped to his feet. "Don't give me that fake concern! No-one two-times me, kid. 'Specially not you."

Donovan took three steps backwards, palms outwards in a placatory gesture. It was an instinctive move to put himself out of reach of what he recognised as a killing rage. His reply was equally instinctive. "Ham, calm down, will you. I don't know what you're talking about, honest I don't..."

"So goddam innocent. Well, lies aren't going to save you, Mike. I know you've been fuckin' that cunt Parrish while I was out of the was—"

"Who told you that?"

"Does it matter? 'Almost married' – that's how it was described. Not the sort of thing someone would invent, is it?" Betrayal was stark in his voice.

"Ham, it's not the way you think," Donovan prevaricated, his mind going into overdrive.

"Don't try to deny it." Tyler was edging towards him.

Donovan stood his ground. "I shouldn't need to! If you trusted me—"

"Trust you—" Tyler's fists were clenching and unclenching, as if he was only just in control of his fury.

"For God's sake, Ham, how long have I known you? I know what a possessive bastard you are. D'you think I'm suicidal?"

Tyler lunged forward with a karate punch that would have paralysed Donovan had it connected, but the other man had been waiting for it. He sidestepped neatly, grateful for the moment's grace that Tyler's slowed reactions had given him. While the other man was off balance from the miss, he slipped inside his guard. There was a struggle that lasted no more than three seconds, then Donovan had him in a stranglehold.

"Now will you listen to me?" Donovan panted. Despite his weakness, Tyler was extremely difficult to control.

"Damn you—" But there was no force behind the words and Tyler was suddenly sagging against him. Which might be no more than a ruse, as Donovan was well aware. With a surge of strength he propelled Tyler into the armchair, shifting his hold to maintain the pressure against the other man's chest, ready to apply it to the throat if he were forced to do so.

"Why don't you use your head, hardrock? Remember why we kept our love a secret in Nam? D'you think things have changed? That a pair of faggots'd be any more popular here and now? We've got enough problems fighting the Visitors without fighting prejudice too. Julie knows about us – but you'll find most people think I don't even like you."

"Do you?"

"Oh for Christ's sake! Look, most Resistance members can't accept me-an'-you, but they'll accept what they think is me-an'-Julie. And if they accept me-an'-Julie as real, they're not even goin' to think questions about you-an'-me."

"So I'm supposed ... to believe it's just a...cover story?"

"Oh, believe what you like." Donovan released him abruptly and turned away, leaving himself open and defenceless. "If you don't care enough to give me the benefit of the doubt there isn't much point."

"I care..." It was little more than a whisper.

"But you don't trust." Donovan turned back to face him. "Alright, Ham, it's easy enough for you to check me out. Go and find Julie and ask her. Or Chris – he knows about us too." It was a calculated risk but...

Tyler didn't move.

"You'd better go, Ham, because if you don't walk out of here right now, I'm gonna demonstrate just how much I want you and, when I've finished, I doubt you'll be able to walk out of here."

Tyler still didn't move.

Donovan stepped forward, caught hold of his chin with none-too-gentle fingers, tilted his head and kissed him brutally, stilling the instinctive protest with ruthless weight and power. "Now, you don't get a choice." He hooked a finger into Tyler's belt buckled and jerked the leather free.

Absurdly, Tyler was grinning at him. "What's it gonna be, Mike? Three falls or a submission?"

That, Donovan knew, was as near an apology as he would ever get from him. "Well..." he said considering, "we don't want to bust your stitches, do we? I'll settle for a submission."

Much to his surprise, he was given one.

 

The knock at the door came at the worst possible moment. Two minutes earlier and it might not have been so critical; thirty seconds later and they wouldn't have noticed it at all. As it was, Donovan froze.

"Jesus, Mike, ignore it, for Christ's sake."

The knock was repeated.

Donovan swore ferociously. "Wait a minute!" he shouted, scrambling to his feet. Snatching his short robe from the bed, he threw it across Tyler's back. Finally disinterring his jeans from beneath the chair, he started to struggle into them. In his condition this was a difficult – not to mention painful – operation.

"You'll never get that zipper up," Tyler observed lazily.

Donovan had been trying not to look at the sprawl on the carpet – they hadn't got anywhere near the bed – but now he did and wished he hadn't: naked temptation wasn't in it.

"Will you cover yourself up!" he snarled, his voice rising to the upper registers as he jerked the zipper on his fly the last few inches.

Tyler sniggered.

Ignoring him, Donovan made his way gingerly to the door and opened it. Julie was standing outside.

"Mike, Ham's missing. He bullied Willie into getting him some clothes. I was hoping you...' Her voice faded as she looked past Donovan to where Tyler – who had, at least, condescended to don the robe – was sitting with his back propped against the bed. To Donovan's heightened imagination, he looked appallingly dissolute. The scattered clothing also told its own story.

Shit.

Julie's mouth pursed in disapproval. "Well, I suppose a little exercise won t do either of you any harm, but if the pair of you open those sutures I'll make Mike replace them without benefit of anaesthetic."

"Does this mean I'm free, Doc?" Tyler asked.

"I'll leave the price ticket to Mike." The door closed on her exit line.

Donovan unzipped his jeans where he stood and stepped out of them with a sigh of relief.

"That's some lady," said Tyler.

"You don't know the half of it."

"And I'm sorry I doubted you."

Naked once again, Donovan came to kneel beside him. "It hasn't been easy for you. We both have adjustments to make – but I love you, Ham. Never doubt that."

"Crazy kid," Tyler murmured, drawing him down to kiss him. "Now, can you remember where we'd got to?"

Donovan's forehead wrinkled. "I'm not sure." He brightened. "Maybe you could remind me."

 

Later that afternoon, Donovan sought out Julie. In one respect he was lucky, he found her with Chris, to whom he also wanted to speak, drinking coffee and discussing the lack of news.

"Calm before the storm," was Chris' pessimistic opinion.

"I trust Elizabeth," said Julie.

"Ah, but do you trust the Leader – or Phillip – or even Kyle Bates, if that's where he is?"

"That's Tyler talking," Julie snapped.

"Yeah, and he's right – about most things, anyway," Chris added, catching sight of Donovan.

"Thanks." Donovan hooked a chair with one long arm and dragged it over to join them. "Any coffee left?"

"Sure." Julie poured him a cup. "Incidentally, where is Ham? I like to keep some sort of track of my patients."

"He's asleep. By the way, Julie, thanks."

Julie shook her head. "Don't thank me, Mike. I don't like this deception of yours at all – no, wait. Hear me out. It's not you I'm worried about – as far as I'm concerned, from hereonin you can sleep with who you like – but Tyler is a sick man in my care. And you've put me – us – in the position where we have to support your lies to maintain his mental stability. I daren't take the risk of letting him learn the truth without regaining his memory, or not yet, at any rate."

"He damn nearly found out without help from any of us. Some fool told him about you and me—"

"Robin," said Chris.

"Robin?"

"Yeah. I came in at the end of what damned near turned into a full scale war. She tried to slap him and he scared her silly with that psychotic killer routine he does so beautifully."

"Shit," Julie said, without force. "That's another problem we didn't need."

"Perhaps it needn't be a problem." Donovan hesitated, then plunged on. "Julie, could you manage here without us – Ham and me, I mean?"

Julie's cup rattled emptily into its saucer. "For how long?"

He met her level gaze steadily. "The duration."

"Oh Mike," she sighed, then shook herself. "It's not a case of whether I can manage without you. It's my medical opinion that Ham has more chance of regaining his memory if he's surrounded by familiar people and situations. Or is that why you want to take him away from them?"

"No! No, of course not." Donovan could feel the scepticism oozing from Julie and Chris even as he made his denial. Indeed, one part of his own mind was laughing nastily at his attempt at self-justification. "It's just that it doesn't look as if it is going to come back and it might be better all round if we made a fresh start."

"It's far too early to make that kind of decision," Julie said, with authority. "And if Ham's memory doesn't come back naturally, there are standard medical techniques we can and will try, when he's fully recovered. If those don't work, we'll talk about it again. Clear?"

"You're the doctor."

"Meanwhile, just what the Devil did you tell him about you and Julie?" Chris asked. "Just so we can keep our lies consistent, you understand. Besides, he was all set to explode and I'd like to know how you defused him. It may come in handy sometime."

 

After a quick glance about him to confirm he was unobserved, Tyler sank to the ground in the shade of a convenient tree, propping his back against the gnarled truck. After assuring everyone, loudly, that he was certainly fit enough to go for a walk by himself, not to mention knock down anyone who tried to stop him, it wouldn't do his reputation any good at all to be observed collapsing after a couple of hundred yards.

Of course, he'd moved silently, staying in the safety of the shadows, but it had been more out of habit than conviction. In truth, he still found it difficult to take the alien threat seriously. Stalking around the Californian hills with a gun in his hand smacked of some science-fictional lunacy, which was why he had taken a rifle instead of the sub-machine gun Donovan had retrieved from the plane's wreckage.

His mouth twisted in a wry smile at the reminder of his own foolishness. But, dammit, it had looked so suspicious – Mike and Julie going off together like that after what that little bitch Robin had said. He had felt a complete idiot when he'd found out they'd made the difficult journey back to the crash to retrieve what they could of his and Robin's belongings. Including what was, apparently, his own favourite smg.

"You looked sort of amputated without it."

Absurd sentimentality, but that was Mike all over. Too late to try to change him now.

Would he, he wondered, love him half as much if he had?

Love?

Oh, admit it, Ham. Something that lasts this long is as near to love as makes no difference.

It was good to have someone like Mike to hold onto when everything else had changed so much. Like the shells they'd given him for the rifle, designed to pierce something far tougher than deer or jack-rabbit hide (though that was all he expected to use them on.) He'd been fascinated by their potential, though Chris Faber had looked at him oddly when he'd mentioned it. He liked Faber: a solid, reliable type to have at your back in a tight place. Professional.

He wasn't so sure about the others.

Just look at this place they'd picked to hole up in, for example. Isolated, sure, with approaches that could be easily guarded and, at first glance, easily defensible...

But wrong, Tyler told himself.

Story is, were fighting a guerrilla war here. Hit, scatter, hide, and re-group – a classic pattern. So if they come at us, where're we gonna run? We're certainly not gonna stay an' fight. Mike isn't gonna indulge himself in a death-and-glory stand while I'm here to stop him.

Tyler looked again at the low, creeper-draped buildings that almost seemed to merge into the steep cliffs behind them.

Wonder if there's a way up there?

Ignoring the fact that he'd left the hotel specifically to do some uninterrupted thinking, Tyler decided to go and find out.

It wasn't as easy as he'd anticipated.

The rock forming this valley was heavily weathered, brittle and friable, giving any number of untrustworthy hand and footholds. Tyler followed a number of narrow clefts back to dead ends before discovering a deeper rift in the cliffs; a narrow, dim, twisting, rock-littered defile.

By now he was sweating and breathing hard, but to a man of Tyler's quintessential stubbornness, this hardly seemed an adequate reason for turning back. Nor did he make it easy for himself following the faint trail that sputtered along the foot of the gorge. Instead, he took advantage every speck of cover provided by the rocks and twisted shrubs, still feeling slightly ridiculous.

Until he heard a noise ahead of him.

He froze. That hadn't been a bird or a rabbit, but something far larger. Deer or goat? Possibly. If so, it would be worth tracking it down. Rations were adequate but not ample; fresh meat would be a welcome addition.

And if it were something else?

Tyler began to climb. It took him ten minutes to reach a suitable ledge and another five to work himself round the next spur, but from there he was able to look down into the defile at the point from which he believed the noise had come. It would have been an easy climb had he been fully fit; as it was, it left him desperately tired, his muscles aching.

Mike would kill him.

Or maybe not. Below him, two men in red clothing were engaged in hiding a third, more conventionally-clad individual, behind a pile of rocks beneath the next spur in the gorge. Julie or Mike must have set a guard here. As it didn't seem likely that it had comprised the pair in uniform – why red for Christ's sake? – and the third man seemed distinctly dead to Tyler's experienced eye, it looked as if he had fallen across an example of enemy action.

What's more, the pair on burial duty weren't alone. He could see at least four others, all armed, located in positions commanding the defile. If he hadn't been above them, even those palace-guard style uniforms wouldn't've given them away.

If we'd've retreated down here we'd've been cut to ribbons. Looks like a frontal attack is on the cards, after all.

So now he had a choice. He could go back to the hotel and warn the others, or he could open up this escape route. The problem was that the attack on the hotel – and he was sure there was going to be one – might start while he was making his way back along the defile, which would mean his warning would be too late and retreat would be impossible. On the other hand, the sound of his gun might set off the attack prematurely, while deterring his own people from attempting to use this escape route.

He was still weighing the opposing risks when the problem solved itself.

"You are sure there are no more guards?" The voice was quiet, but some trick of acoustics sent it echoing upwards to where Tyler lay. It was an oddly familiar voice, though he did not recognise it; low, feminine, and seductive, it sent hate surging through him.

It was answered by a lower rumble. Tyler could not catch the words, but he assumed it was an affirmative.

"Good," the woman's voice went on. "Now, remember, do not fire until you are sure of killing all of them, except the girl, Robin Maxwell, if she is with them. I have plans for her."

The speaker moved out of the shadows directly below him into view; a slender, blindingly lovely woman with haughty features and a cascade of shining, dark brown curls...

And he knew her.

Diana.

The tidal wave of memory threatened to sweep him from the cliff, sweep away all reason—

Somehow, he clung to one thought: that's Diana down there. The Queen 'Gator. This is my chance to kill her. I won't bungle it this time. Won't

By a prodigious effort of will he simply refused to acknowledge the influx of memory, to consider what had happened and what it meant. Instead, he sighted the rifle carefully, wishing he knew more about its firing characteristics, allowing himself the time for an assassin's precision.

He fired a group of three quick shots seeing the green blood fountain from the alien's shattered chest before shifting aim quickly, cutting down as many of the Visitors as he could before they pinpointed his position and found cover.

A blast from a Visitor weapon hit the cliff ten feet beneath him. Tyler rolled away as a huge chunk of rock crashed down into the gorge. Flying rock-chips scratched his face.

Move!

Scrambling to his feet, he took a flying leap sideways, scraping skin from his palms as he clutched desperately at the jutting rock. He did not, however, drop the rifle, not even as he dangled precariously over the drop, feet scrabbling for purchase. He found it, kicked himself up onto the flat surface above, wriggled under the overhang and lay there, gasping.

Below him, the remaining Visitors were shouting at each other amid the thunder of the weapon-fire and falling rock. The whole cliff was shaking, but so were his hands, and he was pretty sure the trickle down his back wasn't sweat.

But he'd done it! Diana was dead, as she should have been long since, would have been, if that sonofabitch Bates hadn't double-crossed him and Bates had paid for that, dying in place of Donovan to thwart Charles' plan.

Donovan.

No time to think about Donovan – but the shots should've warned him, even if the blasted 'gators went ahead with the attack, the Resistance'd get clear. Chris'd see to that.

The rock in front of him exploded.

He buried his face in his arms as the heat and dust steamrollered over him, knowing he'd no strength left to escape the second shot that was bound to follow it.

It didn't come.

Cautiously, Tyler raised his head, listening. Those weren't Visitor weapons, but the clatter of rifles and machine pistols.

Jesus, but they'd cut it fine!

The shooting stopped as suddenly as it had started. For a moment, there was no sound but that of his own ragged breathing. Then...

"Christ, it's Diana!"

"Julie, I've found Sam. He's dead. Looks like the lizards caught him unawares."

"Are you sure it's Diana?"

"My God! Someone must've taken her out before we—"

"Tyler!" Julie's voice lifted to a shout. "Ham, where are you? Ham, answer me!"

Too exhausted to call back, he lifted the gun and fired the last rounds to the sky. Perhaps five minutes later, feet rattled on the stones close to his head. It was Donovan. "Ham..." Arms went round him, held him close, breath warm in his hair. "Thank Christ."

There was a great deal to be said to Mike Donovan, but he hadn't sorted it out yet. Anyway, this was hardly the most suitable place, and he had other priorities. "Listen to me," he ordered. "They had an attack planned to drive us down here. They may not realise what's happened. May still go ahead. So get down there and do something about them."

"You'll be all right?"

"Yeah. Now move, dammit."

Donovan went.

 

It took Tyler some time, and a certain amount of unappreciated help, to descend the cliff. When he reached the bottom he found Julie lurking in wait for him.

"Doesn't a patient get some privacy around here?" he grumbled, as she seated him on a handy rock and began to cut the shirt from his back with surgical scissors.

"Not unless he pays for it. Thank goodness you haven't done too much damage here. I'll just replace these sutures you tore—"

"Thanks. I thought you were going to call Mike to do it."

"Uhuh. You even get the local. Then I'll deal with these cuts. There've been enough heroics from you for one day."

"I couldn't agree with you more. Listen, what d'you intend to do with the bodies?"

"Bury them, if possible. I don't want to be accused of breaking the truce. I thought we might set a charge and bring the valley side down on top of them. Chris'll see to it."

"Good idea, but, before you do, have someone try to retrieve those face masks and wigs, particularly Diana's."

"Why?"

"Because I may have a use for them, if and when this so-called truce comes to an end." Julie looked up sharply from the scraped palm she had been cleaning. "You've got your memory back."

"Correct, Doctor. Having Diana in my sights worked wonders. Just keep it to yourself for a while." He grinned nastily. "I don't want Gooder duckin' out before I get to talk to him."

"Ham, he's—"

"My business, Doc. And you owe me this one."

Julie hesitated. "All right, Ham," she said at last. "Just remember, he's held you pretty much together these last few days."

"I'm not forgetting anything. Just don't interfere."

"Between you two? I wouldn't dare."

 

When Donovan returned it was in high spirits. He had found the main Visitor force dithering, and his group had wiped it out with only one flesh wound and a powder burn to show for it.

By that time, the hotel had been cleared of every trace of their presence. With the ease of long practice, the resistance group packed itself into cars and trucks and scattered.

 

Donovan flopped down on the mattress, and winced. Its springs had seen better days, but he'd slept on worse. At least they'd been given pillows, and the attic appeared watertight and moderately clean.

Tyler was sitting cross-legged in the pool of light cast by the small hand-lamp, stripping down and cleaning his retrieved smg. Donovan lay back and watched him, enjoying the deft, economical movements of the strong hands and the calm, relaxed, almost meditative expression on Tyler's face.

Though the other man had slept most of the way here, curled up in the front passenger seat of the station wagon, he'd woken up enough to be surprisingly charming to the owners of this safe house. But then he always did have a soft spot for little old ladies, Donovan thought, remembering Ruby.

"Tired?" Tyler asked, cocking the reassembled gun and squinting down the sights at a stuffed moose head balanced upside down on its horns in a corner of the attic.

"Yeah." Deliberately, Donovan closed his eyes.

The gun clicked. "Too tired?"

Donovan didn't answer, just waited.

After a time, the mattress shook, then dipped as a weight settled close by. When nothing else happened, Donovan succumbed to temptation and opened his eyes.

Tyler was kneeling at his side, naked, unmoving, eyes intent on Donovan's face. Reaching out to trace a fingertip over compact muscle, Donovan smiled as he saw Tyler shiver at the touch. Finding a nipple, he brushed it lightly, feeling it harden as he circled it.

"Your eyes are amber in this light," Tyler murmured, bending to kiss him. Donovan deepened the kiss, winding his arms about the other man's neck as need burned between them, building quickly as skin slid against skin, tongue against tongue.

Donovan found himself pushed back onto the mattress, writhing helplessly as Tyler's hands teased and caressed, his mouth sucked and licked and kissed each sensitive spot, until his victim could no longer think coherently...

Velvet heat nudged gently against Donovan's thigh, mutely pleading for him to turn, to offer...

"Please..." he whispered as he did so."Oh, yes, please..."

As he felt Tyler settle between his spread thighs, it occurred to Donovan, in a sudden moment of clarity, that, after all these years, his body might betray him. He needn't have worried. Tyler was as careful with him as if he had still been virgin. When he entered him, he was flying too high to recall his doubts. It was just as he remembered it, the perfect fit of buttocks into the union of thigh and groin, throbbing balls pressed tight against over-sensitive skin, the exquisite sensations piercing gut and groin, the unbearable sense of closeness, of possession—

"Steady, baby, steady..." the wonderful deep voice crooned, a slow rocking motion accompanying each word. "Jesus… but... you're… beautiful..."

The rocking gathered momentum, became gentle thrusting, gaining power until it was spearing Mike to the heart as he pushed back against it, driving to an explosion of ecstasy...

It took a little while for the world to settle back to its normal equilibrium. When it did, Donovan discovered himself to be sandwiched between Tyler's warm, relaxed weight and the lumpy mattress.

It felt wonderful.

After all too short a time, Tyler stirred, kissing Donovan's ear and the nape of his neck before easing himself down to lie beside him.

"Okay?" he asked, as Donovan snuggled into his arms.

"Mmmmmmm."

A hand slid down Donovan's side, then over his hip to explore the softness between his thighs.

"Shit!" Tyler said.

"Whaddya expect?" Donovan mumbled into Tyler's neck, shifting one leg forwards to encourage the hand to stay where it was. "If y'will be so fuckin'... macho..."

"You got complaints?"

"I'll think about it. When I come down from wherever I'm floating, I'm sure I can find something you did wrong...but right now I can't imagine what—"

"I gotta complaint," Tyler interrupted.

"Yeah?"

"You're using your mouth for all the wrong things – looks like I gotta give you lessons." For all the roughness in his words, the kiss that followed was soft and inexpressibly tender, recalling bittersweet memories of hot, humid nights when passion had turned inevitably into love.

Damn Julie's scruples, Donovan thought helplessly. I'll make some excuse ... turn north ... away from here ... anywhere but, whatever happens, I can't bear to lose him again.

 

Waking suddenly, Donovan realised at once that Tyler was no longer beside him. Panicked, he pushed himself up on his elbows, blinking in the lamplight, looking about him wildly until he located Tyler.

The older man, clad in jeans and a black T-shirt, was sitting on a roll of rotting carpet, chin resting on a clenched fist, studying him with impenetrable dark eyes.

"Ham? What're you doing?"

"I had some thinking to do," Tyler said neutrally.

"Oh?" Donovan sat up properly and ran a hand through his hair. "What about?"

"About which is the real Michael Donovan; the compassionate, woolly-minded, idealistic Hero of the Resistance, or the ruthless liar who'd use anyone to gain his own ends.'

"What the hell are you talking about?" Still half asleep, Donovan was in no mood to exchange insults – or riddles.

"I'm talking about you, Gooder, about you an' me, an' our past, present and probably nonexistent future."

Donovan heard only the old, insulting nickname.

Oh, Jesus wept ... no. Not now.

"How much do you remember?" he asked tiredly.

"Oh, all of it, I believe, Gooder. Certainly enough to wonder why you thought I'd want to go through it all a second time."

"I thought you needed me... was trying not to hurt you—"

"Don't give me that crap, Donovan. You've been doing your damnedest to hurt me for the past sixteen years, ever since you walked out on me in Nam."

The unfairness of the accusation roused Donovan's temper. "Since I walked out on you? You made it pretty damn clear you never wanted to see me again."

"And you believed it, didn't you? No questions – because it was what you wanted to hear, wasn't it? It was also the only way I could think of to stop you following me to Laos. I'd tried everything else, short of shooting you – and don't think I didn't consider that, too."

Donovan was staring at him in bewilderment.

"Oh come on, Gooder. Don't pretend you didn't figure it out. I gave you a week at the outside. My mistake was in thinking you cared enough to forgive me for it – and to be waiting when I got back."

"No." Donovan was shaking his head. "If that'd been true, you wouldn't've engineered that assignment for me with NBC."

"I wouldn't've done what?" For the first time, Tyler appeared shaken.

"I admit I was slow, even though it had your fingerprints all over it. Sure, four, five days after you'd told me to get lost, when Jim Cantor of NBC offered me a chance to replace one of their cameramen who'd been shot in the leg for a rush assignment, I should've remembered that his boss was in bed with the Company – if you'll pardon the expression. But I was hurting, Tyler. So I didn't get it until it was too late, an' I was clutching a camera in the back of a helicopter gunship. You must've wanted to get rid of me pretty badly to pull those strings."

Tyler seemed to have recovered his assurance. "Interesting story, Gooder," he drawled. "Odd that all the people who could confirm it are dead." His voice hardened. "Would you like to explain how I 'engineered' a cameraman getting himself shot when I was halfway to Laos?"

"I didn't know where you were."

"Nor cared, presumably. You'd got what you wanted – even if it wasn't by sticking close to my tail, as you'd planned. You're a selfish bastard, aren't you, Gooder? Only you hide it behind that fake bleeding-heart."

"Believe what you like." Donovan, sick with loss, rolled himself up in the unzippered sleeping bag, turning his back on Tyler before he gave the sonofabitch the satisfaction of seeing the tears he knew would come if he listened any longer.

"I believed you hated me," Tyler said quietly. "Just as I used to believe you loved me. Which is it now, Gooder?" It was a demand.

Donovan lifted his head, looking at his tormentor with dull, smouldering misery.

Tyler plainly found it answer enough. "So, less than forty-eight hours after you told me never to doubt your love, you're back to hating me. Forgive me if I'm a little confused." Tyler's courtesy was cutting.

"You're confused!" Donovan scrubbed at his hair again. "Ham, look at it this way. Seventeen years ago we were in love. You forgot everything that happened after that so, of course, you were still in love with me. You needed me."

"I see. And you humoured me out of sheer altruism." The sarcasm was deadly.

"No. No. I... It was good ... to go back to that time for a while. Simpler."

Tyler said nothing.

"I loved you, Ham. You made me remember how it used to be, how you used to be."

"So now we have it!" Tyler was all interrogator. Donovan almost expected spotlights to bracket him. "'How I used it be.' Alright, Gooder, apart from the fact I was sleeping with you, how was I so different?"

Donovan shook his head, lost for a way to explain, while Tyler waited with the patience of a hunter – and it was no use wasting pleas or excuses on a tiger. "I've told you often enough why I hate you – what you are: a cynical, ruthless killer who doesn't care who or what he destroys to achieve his own ends," he snapped.

Tyler nodded. "Yes, I know, but I was all those things long before you knew me in Nam. I asked you for differences, not similarities."

Stunned, Donovan sat silent and afraid.

"Okay, let's try something else. If I was so different, Chris, Julie and the others must've noticed. After all, Chris has known me for over ten years and the Doc misses nothing. How did they describe me over the last few days?"

Once again, Donovan had no ready answer. He could hear the voices all too clearly:

Julie: "… so thoroughly obnoxious, I knew he was feeling better..."

Chris: "… that psychotic killer routine he does so beautifully..."

Willie: "...it is so hard to believe that he cannot remember..."

Robin: "… losing his memory hasn't improved him one damn bit..."

And Julie again: "… he's made an astonishing adjustment. If no-one told you, you wouldn't know he was going through the trauma of memory loss..."

They'd seen no difference. But if Tyler hadn't changed...

A huge abyss was opening in front of him. Tyler's next words pushed him over the edge.

"And, of course, you realised all along that my memory came back yesterday afternoon."

"Oh Christ." He was not sure if he had said it aloud, was not even sure if he was capable of speech. He'd never suspected – not even when they had made love. There'd been so much tenderness, tenderness he'd not believed possible from the Ham Tyler of here-and-now.

I saw what I expected to see: is that what he's saying?

The change from gentle lover to cold interrogator had been difficult enough to accept – but to believe that they were one and the same, had always been the same...

Looking at Tyler through eyes blurred with tears, he could no longer tell the difference. "Because there had never been any difference. He'd blinded himself. In Nam it had been forgivable for he had been wildly in love, finding it easy to pretend that what he didn't like wasn't there but there had been no excuse for pretending there was no more to Tyler than the professional killer, except his own hate.

I needed to hate him. It was the only way I could stop loving him. If I ever did. He's right. I've spent sixteen years trying to hurt him.

And now he's making me pay.

It seemed right that he should be the one to weep for both their sins.

When he lifted his head, he saw that Tyler hadn't moved from the position in which he'd last seen him.

"Have you decided, then?" he asked, in a voice that shook only slightly.

"Decided what?"

"Which is the real Mike Donovan?"

"They both are. That's what I've been trying to prove to you. Unless you can accept that the 'cynical ruthless killer' you so vividly describe is part of me, just as I accept that the equally ruthless, irrational liberal – much as he irritates me – is part of you, then there's no future for us."

Donovan drew a quick, incredulous breath. Had he really heard that correctly? If so. "Future, Ham? With a liar and a cheat like me?"

As always, the grin transformed Tyler's face. "Everyone has their good points, Mike. Even you."

The hope was turning into certainty. "You're a bastard, Ham Tyler. A sneaky, merciless, amoral, clever, loving, wonderful bastard. And are you going to sit there all night when I need you?"

"You only had to ask," Tyler said mildly – and came into his arms. As Donovan pressed him reassuringly close, he was surprised to find the other man's shirt was damp with sweat. Tyler hadn't found the last half hour easy, either.

"Ham, why did you do it?" he whispered, stroking his hair. "Why put us both through hell like this?"

"You had to work it out for yourself. You wouldn't've believed me if I'd just told you how mixed up you were. Besides, you needed to learn what it feels like to be used. If anyone else had done what you did to me, they'd be dead now."

"Oh God, I'm sorry."

"Sorry for this?" Tyler asked, and kissed him passionately. "No way, Gooder."

"Fuck it, will you stop calling me that – at least in bed."

"Annoy you, does it?"

"You fuckin' well know it does. Damn you, Ham, you make me madder than anyone else on Earth..."

"Good, because you irritate the hell out of me, particularly in your holier-than-thou moods."

"I' m sorry."

"The penitent mood's even worse."

That silenced Donovan for a time, and he lay with his forehead resting against Tyler's cheek, thinking. When he spoke, his voice was almost inaudible. "It isn't going to be easy, is it?"

"No, but we've tried being enemies and that didn't work either. And the last few days have been... I need you, Mike, but I'm damned if I know how we can live together without tearing each other to pieces."

Donovan was careful about his answer. "I can't promise we won't fight, Ham – probably every hour on the hour – but what I can promise is that I'll never bring my anger into your bed."

Tyler considered it for what seemed like a century. "It's a start. Okay, you have my promise too."

Donovan kissed the side of his mouth. "D'you think we'd ever've got ourselves sorted out if it hadn't been for that plane crash?"

"1 don't know and I really don't care. I'm just grateful... Which reminds me – how the devil did you intend to explain Sean to me? While I couldn't remember who he was, I mean."

"Oh, that. No problem," Donovan said airily, as Tyler squinted sideways in a futile attempt to watch his face without moving his head. "Way back, we had one fight too many. I ran back home to mother and she introduced me to this girl who was as different from you as it was possible to get. So I married her on the rebound. Later, I realised it was all a terrible mistake an'—"

"You really think I'd've swallowed that?"

"Why not?" Donovan said, with great satisfaction. "It happens to be the truth."

Tyler's double-take was magnificently theatrical. "I see. You asked for a divorce on the grounds that you only married her because you'd been jilted by your boyfriend."

"Wish I'd thought of that. I'd've loved to've seen Mother's face. No, you fool, I didn't tell her anything about you, anymore than I suppose you told your wife about me." The instant the words were out, Donovan regretted them; this was dangerous ground, a quicksand of private grief...

"You win the booby prize," Tyler replied calmly. "She had a right to know that someone I'd loved that much was still around." He chuckled suddenly. "She always wanted to meet you, admired your nerve in walking out on me, I think. I'd never've allowed it, of course. You'd've got on too well. I wouldn't've stood a chance against both of you."

"You loved her very much." It was not a question.

"What I had with her was different from what I had with you. Not better or worse, just different, and a lot more tranquil."

There was an obvious effort behind the attempt at humour. Suddenly, Donovan didn't want to hear any more. Whenever he'd previously thought about the death of Tyler's wife and daughter it had been with the same detached pity with which he'd peered through a viewfinder at too many terrible deaths. Now Tyler's words had started to show him a person, a woman he knew instinctively he would have liked, and she and her child – Ham's child – had been crisped by a careless flyboy—

The thought was unbearable.

He stopped any further revelations with his mouth, pouring all his love and understanding into the kiss. "I know," he whispered. "You don't have to tell me anything, Ham, but if you ever need to talk, I'll be here to listen."

"Don't pity me, Gooder." Tyler's voice was hard.

"Never. But I do love you."

"Oh, baby." This time it was Tyler who took refuge in a kiss to explain what he could not say in words. "Someday," he whispered into Donovan's mouth.

"Someday," Donovan agreed, secretly pleased. There had been enough pain for one night. He kissed Tyler once more, then rested his head on his shoulder. "Meanwhile, we've got to decide how much we're going to tell the others."

"Nothin'."

"I'm warning you, Ham. I've had my fill of deceit."

"What d'you want us to do, Good— Mike? Announce our engagement? Send out invitations to the wedding?"

"No, but—"

"What's between us is no-one's business but ours. I'm not going out of my way to hide it, like we did in Nam, but I'm not pushing anyone's nose in it, either."

"They'll notice."

"Let 'em. So long as they don't try to interfere." Donovan knew that tone; he foresaw trouble ahead.

Face it when it happens, Mike.

"Julie and Chris know already," he said.

"I'll handle Chris. What about you and Julie?" Tyler's voice was just a little too level and matter-of-fact.

"It's over," Donovan answered equally flatly.

"Sure?"

"Yeah. She thinks we've never stopped loving each other, that you came to L.A. to protect me and that I was using her to make you jealous."

"Were you?"

"Perhaps. Were you jealous?"

"Fifth amendment, Counsellor."

"You were jealous!" Donovan was delighted.

Tyler shifted uncomfortably. "So long as she doesn't make trouble." He changed the subject abruptly. "At least we no longer have the Company to cope with. You were right, Mike; that assignment back in Nam was too pat to be anything but a set-up. I had nothing to do with it, so I reckon someone found out about us, decided I should be salvaged rather than junked, sent me off to Laos an' gave you the opportunity to get yourself killed. I'm just surprised they didn't arrange something more immediately permanent."

"Perhaps they would have, if you hadn't taken a hand yourself. Does this mean you won't be going back to the CIA after the war is over?"

"I didn't last time; why should I this?"

Donovan propped himself up on one elbow to look into Tyler's face. "I was never sure if that Security Agency of yours wasn't a Company front, but I guess it's time we both stopped chasing around the world dodging bullets. Gonna be a lot of opportunities for experienced cameramen in L.A. Besides, I've been toying with the idea of writing a book about this war."

"Make us all out to be heroes, huh? Well, there's no-one better qualified to write it."

"Not worried about having your cover blown?"

"No. Good publicity."

"Now, I'll believe you've actually quit the C.I.A." Kissing him thoroughly to confirm it, Donovan insinuated one hand under Tyler's T-shirt and flipped open the button of his jeans with the other.

Tyler remained passive, his eyes closing. Donovan kissed them gently, then his forehead where the hair was thinning.

"You're getting old," he teased, as he surreptitiously slid the zipper down.

"'M tired. Haven't had any sleep since last night."

"So you weren't asleep in the car. Next time I'll poke you to make sure." But his fingers were gentle as they explored the soft skin of Tyler's belly.

"Had things to work out."

"Yeah, you were just as mixed up as I was."

"Not half as much as you'll be if you don't shut up.?

"One more thing."

"Go to sleep, Mike," Tyler growled.

"When we left the hotel, I noticed we'd not just picked up the Visitor uniforms and guns, as usual. We appeared to have collected their face masks and wigs."

Tyler grunted what might have been agreement.

"Julie said you'd ordered it."

The grunt was even more neutral.

"So what d'you have in mind?"

There was no reply. Donovan's hand stopped stroking Tyler's belly and pinched the flesh together – hard. " I said, 'What did you have in mind?"

Tyler's hand moved swiftly to grasp Donovan's wrist, steering his hand forcibly downwards to press the hard warmth beginning to gather there. His chuckle was lecherous in the extreme.

"Wait an' see, Gooder. Just wait an' see."

 

End

 _Our little lives are kept in equipoise  
By opposite attractions and desires;  
The struggle of the instinct that enjoys,  
And the more noble instinct that aspires._

 _These perturbations, this perpetual jar  
Of earthly wants and aspirations high,  
Come from the influence of an unseen star,  
An undiscovered planet in our sky._

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow


End file.
